


Sixteen Lashes

by LadyLaguna



Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 18:30:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7117681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLaguna/pseuds/LadyLaguna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Figaro forges an alliance with the Empire. Edgar discovers he's no politician.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sixteen Lashes

**Author's Note:**

> My imagining of the riot that occurred in South Figaro, according to the Ultimania timeline. Response to a prompt from terranell@tumblr regarding Edgar being protective of his brother :3
> 
> I just don't know how I feel about "Macias" so it's Sabin all the way up in here. If it bothers you, pronounce it fancifully. "Sahbeen" or something regal like that.

For the first time in his life, Edgar was to address a crowd of people.

It was a sizeable crowd. Around fifty people. But not the entire country, or even the entire Figaroian court. Only men from the nearby tavern, and tired workmen on their way home for the day.

Swallowing hard, he held up his hands. “Now, now,” he began, finding his honeyed voice lost in the rabble.

Sabin had already taken the makeshift ‘stage’ in the square before him, arguing loudly with a refugee from Kohlingen. She herself was barely into her twenties, with a fussing baby strapped to her hip. The news of Figaro’s alliance with the Empire, understandably, didn’t sit well with her.

Despite her station, she was their elder. And she brought into stark relief the fact that Edgar was a mere teen boy, and had done absolutely nothing in his life to command respect save being born at the right place during the right time.

Edgar’s brother, unfortunately, had no real sense of introspection about him. The two of them, despite being twins, couldn’t be more dissimilar in interests and personality. While Edgar was calm and careful, Sabin was explosive and (according to some) rather boorish. The good King of Figaro trusted Edgar with his secrets, while Sabin danced on his last nerve. That was what brought the two of them to South Figaro, after all-- Sabin’s last chance to make good and become a productive member of society.

And Edgar had been tasked to watch over him. This task, unfortunately, ended in monumental failure the moment Sabin pushed his way into the crowd to address the young lady in the center of it.

It wasn’t that he disagreed with her, necessarily. Allying with the Imperials suggested complicity with their crimes, and Sabin held no love at all for Emperor Gestahl. But neither he nor the woman nor most of the crowd could decide on what exactly they wanted to do about it.

That was when Edgar stepped in. And as he looked his countrymen, his future subjects, in the eye, he found his mouth rather dry.

“Now, if the lot of you will please--” he tried again.

They all ignored him, their voices growing in volume.

“Silence, you brutes!!” Edgar cried, his voice breaking from the effort. Still nothing, though Sabin finally took notice of his brother.

“SHUT UUUUP!” Sabin bellowed, his voice echoing off of the nearby buildings. This finally got through the crowd, and they stopped in their places, looking toward the grassy knoll that had become their stage.

Swallowing hard, Edgar nodded gratefully toward Sabin. With a steadying breath, he held up his hands again. “My good, er, sirs. Please be not so hasty in your judgment. I’m sure that His Majesty has good reason for signing these accords--”

“Yeah, to save his own ass!” someone called from the crowd.

“Now, see here--” Edgar began.

“Go back home to daddy, little man,” another said.

Edgar gestured helplessly. “Please!! Narshe signed into this pact ages ago, with the agreeance to remain neutral. We can easily do the same--”

“Yeah, and the Empire’s sucked the coal mines like a baby at the tit ever since. Now that they got a hold of Kohlingen’s farmland, we’ll have to pay out the ass for every ear of corn--”

The refugee shoved Edgar’s shoulder. “Why don’t you tell the King that his people want to stand up and fight?! Or are you too afraid?!”

“We don’t want to fight!” another man spoke up. “I agree with the King’s desire for peace!”

“You’re naive!”

“I pay taxes-- we all pay taxes! When is the King gonna listen to us, for a change?!”

“Go tell the King--”

“Fuck you and your family, daddy’s boy--”

“We support you, Your Highness!”

“Won’t you help us?!”

The swirl of questions and pleas and epithets overwhelmed him and he stood agape, hands in midair. 

That is, until a bottle of liquor flew just by his head, shattering someplace nearby. Edgar recoiled, eyes wild. His father had always called him “The Great Ambassador”--at court. Not in reality, where commoners walked. And he had greatly overestimated his own abilities.

“You son of a--” Sabin hissed, lunging at the person who hurled the bottle. At that point, the time for discussion had passed. More bottles, fists, rakes, hammers, and any number of other implements began to fly. The refugee woman screamed, curling to shield her baby. Somewhere in the periphery, Edgar saw his contingent of guards coming forward.

Edgar went with his first instinct, which was to protect the woman. She had other ideas, and her nails raked unforgivingly across his face. With a curse he stumbled backward, suddenly finding himself in danger of being trampled by the crowd.

A strong pair of hands grabbed him by the back of his collar, hauling him upward. Soon he was being dragged into an alley, and he immediately feared kidnapping. In the distance, a bang, a flash of fire, and more screams. Edgar twisted as he was placed on the ground, and realized that his savior was Sabin’s martial arts teacher.

“There were agitators out there, watching your every move,” Duncan said. “It’s best that you make haste back to the castle, Your Highness.”

A moment later, Vargas appeared, hauling Sabin bodily from the fray.

“I’m not done with that asshole yet--” he cried, swinging his noodly arms in the air as Vargas held him tight. His right eye was already swelling shut.

Edgar staggered to his feet, dragging a hand over his own face. Blood congealed on his fingers and he winced. Hopefully it wouldn’t scar. “We’ve done quite enough already, Sabin!” Edgar cried. “Please, I’m begging you, let’s get away from here.”

He didn’t like how his voice wavered when he said it. He didn’t like the fact that his attempts at diplomacy had failed completely. He didn’t like the way his father looked at him whenever Sabin had another tantrum. More people were screaming in the night, and there was no ignoring it now: A war was on. No alliance or cease fire could change that fact.

Sabin looked at him, falling still. “I was-- I was only trying to--”

_Protect you._ Edgar knew what he wanted to say. They always finished one another’s sentences, even now. But their relationship, in action, wasn’t nearly as reciprocal. And Edgar could only protect Sabin from himself for so long. Eventually, as their father had once said, Sabin would have to face the consequences of his actions.

“Please, brother,” Edgar said. “Please.”

Somber, Sabin nodded. They snuck through back alleys with the monk and his son, snatching the first pair of chocobos they came across. In ten minutes, they had left South Figaro and its glowing fires far behind.

They didn’t speak or stop until they reached the caves leading toward the castle. Edgar wiped his face with a silk handkerchief, finding that the scratches were only superficial. They instructed the guard to let no one pass that he didn’t know, and ducked within.

The dark enveloped them, save for the torch Edgar carried. Their birds followed, at length, on their leads, accustomed to the winding passageways.

After they were well away from the entrance, Sabin said, “I’m going to be banished. I’m going to spend the rest of my life in Doma.”

Edgar wanted to cry, “Finally!” Finally, the consequences of his actions were sinking in. He only had to cause a riot and nearly lose his eye. But Edgar did not say anything. Instead, he let his brother simmer in his own juices for awhile longer.

“...will you come visit me?” he asked.

Sighing softly, Edgar said, “No. I’ll be too busy running the country.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Dad’s too mean to die.”

A snort and Edgar shook his head.

“You won’t be banished. Not right now. It’s safer in the castle.”

“Some comfort.”

“You’re welcome, brother.” With a smile, Edgar slapped Sabin on the back.

The rest of the trip was quiet.

Of course, the moment they crossed the castle’s threshold, they were summoned to His Majesty’s chambers. “How does he know already?!” Sabin hissed in Edgar’s ear as they walked. Edgar was more wily than His Majesty gave him credit for, and knew that along with the other treasures in the castle’s basement, there existed a telegraph of sorts.

King Stewart stood behind his desk (large enough to sleep two children), arms behind his back. His eyes were unreadable, face stern, as the twins came to stand before him. Off to the side was a hairy man in his mid twenties that Edgar vaguely recalled seeing in the castle before.

“The agitators and several other men have been arrested,” the King announced. “The fires are being put out as we speak. Two businesses were destroyed, but there were only minor injuries.”

“Oh, good. You found the men that started it,” Sabin said, doing his best to look dignified with one eye swollen shut.

Nodding, the King said, “Indeed. Every single one, according to eyewitness accounts. Save for one young man.”

Edgar felt his heart in his throat already.

“The problem being, of course, that he looks very similar to another young man in the crowd,” he continued. “There are reports that he accosted a refugee from Kohlingen, and that started this whole mess.”

Sabin fell silent. The King immediately looked to him, expectant.

_I was only trying to protect you._

“It was me, father,” Edgar murmured, eyes downcast. “I lost control of myself. I thought she could be reasoned with. And when she couldn’t, I raised my voice to her. It was… it was an embarrassment, for someone who shall one day be King…”

“Indeed it was,” Stewart replied, shaking his head. “My Great Ambassador has failed me this day. You realize, Edgar, that as a King you must be a servant of the people. Though you must simultaneously look out for their best interests-- even if they don’t understand that right now.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Edgar whispered, not daring to look up. Sabin was frozen in place, and he could feel his gaze burrowing into the side of his skull. He silently willed his boisterous brother to keep his mouth shut.

“You both were supposed to go to South Figaro to become men. To better understand your people. And you’ve disappointed me. Do you understand why I didn’t send for you both the minute that Kohlingen fell?”

“You didn’t want us in your way?” Sabin replied, his voice wavering.

Stewart emerged from behind the desk. “No. Because your presence in South Figaro was a sign that we weren’t afraid. That life could continue on as normal. And what do you do the first moment you’re tested?”

“I’m sorry, father,” Edgar whispered.

“Father-- the Alliance--”

“Is not for you to question,” Stewart snapped, pointing a stern finger in Sabin’s direction. “And you will never make public commentary about it again. Nor about the Empire, or its policies in other countries. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the twins said, in unison.

“Good,” the King hissed. “Now, my little Agitator. You’ll be punished just like the rest, because you are not above them as you seem to think. On your knees.”

“Father?” Eyes wide, Edgar finally looked upward.

Stewart pointed at the floor. Aghast, Edgar did as bid. The fourth man, heretofore perfectly silent, stepped forward, brandishing a length of cane. Edgar gasped brokenly, swallowed down his horror, and began to unbutton his coat.

“Sixteen lashes. One for every year of wisdom you should have,” the King said.

Not since his early years had Edgar received corporal punishment. Sabin finally seemed to wake up. “Father! This is too much!”

“People could have died. Hands on your legs, Edgar. If you move them, the punishment starts over.”

“Father--!!”

“Sabin, please,” Edgar said, eyes trained on the floor. “Be still. Let’s just get this over with.”

The first stroke against his bare back was the worst. Biting his lip, he resisted the urge to cry out. A breath and the second came. He remembered where he’d seen the man before. He was responsible for the prisoners down in the basement. Each lash was quick, efficient, and burned like hell. This man was a professional.

By the sixth, the separate lines of pain began to melt together into one mass. Edgar’s vision blurred. Still, he did not cry out. Between each slap of the cane, he could hear Sabin’s frantic breathing.

Ten. Edgar bit his lip, eyes squeezing shut.

Fourteen. Tasting blood on his lips, he hissed, but did not emit any sound.

Finally, the last.

“Thank you, Amherst. You are dismissed.”

With a bow, the man took his cane and left.

After a moment of recovery, Edgar was able to stand. Calmly, though with shaking fingers, he pulled his undershirt back on. Even the cool silk did little to calm the burning sensation.

“Am I dismissed as well?” Edgar asked, voice as even as he could manage.

He had turned on his heel to leave before his father’s answer came. Passing his brother without a word, he left.

A worried maid, a sometime lover of Edgar’s, appeared out of nowhere. Of course, half the castle likely knew about what had transpired already.

“I will fetch you some cold water and vinegar, Your Highness,” she said, her voice shaking. Edgar only nodded and made his way back to his own rooms.

Soon enough he was on his stomach atop his bed, shirtless, as the young lady squeezed the mixture and some tonic over his skin. There were angry red welts all over his back, but none of the skin had broken. A professional, indeed. His father planned as much, he was sure.

Unbidden, Sabin let himself into the room.

“Brother!” he sobbed. With tears, snot, and dried blood on his swollen face, he cut a beautiful picture.

Sighing heavily, Edgar said, “Please leave us, Margaret.”

The maid complied, bowing hastily to the both of them.

“He has to know it was me, Edgar. I can’t believe he’d-- he’d do that to you--”

Silent, Edgar held the soaked towel toward his brother. Sniffling, Sabin accepted it, and resumed the maiden’s job. Unfortunately, he was much more heavy-handed than she, and the intense emotion made him sloppy.

“Why, Edgar??”

“Oh, Sabin, it’s not like he cut off my hands. Be still.”

“Brother--”

“Because I don’t want you to be sent away, alright?!” Edgar cried, huffily resting his cheek on folded arms. “Because you’re my brother. I’m the smarter of us both, of course. And even I don’t understand what this Alliance is supposed to accomplish. But I trust father’s judgment.”

“It’s peace, isn’t it? A last try at peace?”

“I think so. At the very least, that’s what the people should think. So I’ll do what-- ouch!-- Aahn-- I’ll do what father asks of us, and become a man. Be normal for the people. I’ll live without fear. I’ll go back to chasing skirts and you-- you do whatever it is you do when you’re not breaking things.”

Sabin dipped the towel into the bowl of water, wrung it out, and draped it over Edgar’s back.

“I’m nervous, brother.”

“Me, too.”

Barely six months later, King Stewart was dead.


End file.
